Shit I Miss About My Brush Creek Artist Residency

• Seeing our jackrabbit friends at Artist Camp

• Being around fellow kindred artists on a daily basis

• Waking up at 9 a.m. most days

• The view of the snow-filled field and surrounding rock outcrops from my bed every morning

• The ritual of taking off my boots and stepping into my slippers whenever I stepped into my writing studio

• The view from my writing desk

• The comfy couch in my writing studio (great for afternoon naps)

• All the quietude and solitude

• Becoming acutely aware of the shades and play of light and shadow within my studio as the day passed, as well as out on the various trails

• Wearing a scarf and mi chullo on a near daily basis

• Walking into the kitchen at 12 and 6 p.m. on a daily basis and magically having plentiful free food to gobble

• Our communal meals

• Murray’s wit

• Beverly’s mischievous grin

• Susan’s smile

• Elizabeth’s infectious laugh

• Federico’s voice

• Kathy’s kindness

• Sliding over the heated wooden floor in the kitchen in my socks

• The sound of our boots as we walked on the wooden platforms around Artist Camp

• The hills and beautiful rock outcrops around Artist Camp

with my writing partner, Chepita

• All the birds on the ranch: the robins, magpies, the occasional crow, the little small dudes and the rare falcon and golden eagle

• The primordial fear of running into a moose or mountain lion on our hikes past Artist Camp

• The Swinging Bridge!

with photographer extraordinaire, Susan Hillyard

• Taking hikes before or after meals

• Hearing and seeing the creek

• The blue sky on a clear day

• Seeing horses in this snow-filled landscape

Brush Creek Ranch

• The orange sunsets over the Snowy Range Mountains

• Seeing all the stars at night on clear evenings

• Having the writing studio (and Artist Camp, really) all to myself late at night

• Going to a small town on a weekly basis

• The salty caramel ice cream at Lollipops

• Seeing icicles hanging from our roofs

• The snow!

• Snowfall!

• The howling winds!

• Playing in the snow by making snowmen

• Seeing animal tracks in the snow everywhere

• Having to always be aware of where you’re stepping when you’re not indoors or on the wooden platforms (spoken like a relatively young man)

• Having life siphoned down to eating, shitting and writing

Shit I’ve Learned About Wyoming (Thus far)

February 5th, late Friday evening, the tiny United passenger plane I rode from Denver, CO landed on the small airport runway in Laramie, WY. It was my first time in The Equality or Cowboy State, only my second time in the Mountain Standard Zone. (My heart still aches for you, New Mexico!) The following morning, I contracted the services of the good people at Snowy Range Taxi to take me west from Laramie past Saratoga, the nearest town from the artist camp that I will call home for most of this month.

On my two-hour cab ride to the Brush Creek Ranch, and from conversations with locals and others who have passed through Wyoming before, I’ve learned a thing or two about the 44th state admitted into the American Union: